Monday, April 7, 2014

Arise Babushka!

I wrote this in February 2014 around the time Yanukovych was on the run and it seemed vital to encourage Russian-leaning citizens of Eastern Ukraine and Crimea. Since then Yanukovych appeared in Moscow, and Putin has occupied Crimea. There is still merit in reaching babushkas who have great influence over younger generations in East Europe. Also, it appears that Russian natives living in Russia itself suffer greatly under the current regime of Putin and criminal thugs. For more on that and the Crimean Tatar situation, please see: see:http://www.forbes.com/sites/paulroderickgregory/2014/03/26/mr-putin-tear-down-that-potemkin-village/

Epistle
to Russian Eastern Ukraine:

Arise Babushka!

Martin
Luther Dostoievsky

Chauncey Roberts Copyright
2014

I have
a dream for you, sick man. I have a
dream that you will seek a future not of Russia or the EU but finer a Ukraine
for Ukraine. Demand $15 billion from
Russia for Eastern Ukraine and $15 billion euros from the EU for Western
Ukraine. And when at the end of summer
and the families take their children to the first day of school, a fine
national tradition, let the children, the promise of tomorrow’s better world,
remember the insight and magnanimity in calling for a united independent
Ukraine.

Magnanimous means to reach for that greater good, obviously not to be
stifled and stagnant in some rosy scenario of Granny (Babushka) about her
happiest days in Brezhnev’s time, when she was young and in love. Since then Grandpa (Dedushka) has died of
lung cancer and liver cirrhosis, and what remains is for Babushka to face alone
the indecency of unbelievably crowded public transportation.

Here
comes Babushka! With her bucket of
flowers and jars of fresh creamy milk!
She looks left and looks right, just knowing the nearest toilet
available to her is a public loo another kilometer away…across the icy sidewalks
with a wealthy driver horn-honking for her to hurry through intersections while
he urgently texts his way through a dreadful vodka hangover.

There
goes Babushka! Past a line of older ladies
returning empty bottles of their wasted family members, trying to get a little
income for the afternoon borscht.

Oh
Babushka! If only Putin could get things
back on track. When you were invincible
and feared by West Germany…all those nuclear and chemical weapons and the
neutron bomb! You could have destroyed
or taken over West Germany in a moment!
The glory, the might and the fear!
All those Labour peaceniks like Tony Blair before becoming Margaret
Thatcher’s proudest boast and a common war criminal!

Now
here comes Babushka finally, her heavy feet and ankles in old worn boots,
trudging toward that needed public toilet.

“Give
me two hryvnia,” says the smoking, unsmiling restroom attendant—the bossy
sort. Well we know how she got her job!

Babushka reaches into her bag for the old change purse. She reaches and searches: It’s missing!
At once she knows that no good son-in-law has stolen it for a vodka contribution
with the neighbor.

“This
is not America, the most dangerous country in the industrialized world!”

Another water closet patroness, nodding with compassion, hands Bossy the
hryvnias for Babushka.

But
wait! Now in her stall Babushka raises
her dress and shabby coat and removes her undergarments…only to estimate the
exact hole in the floor in this squat toilet.
She lowers her large derriere, aims, and makes her contribution. Heaven forbid it should hit upon on her shoes
again! But then what? Lo! She teeters
and falls on the arthritic bad knee. She
gasps and groans noisily. She can’t get
up.

Pushing this way, rising on both arms—it’s useless. Babushka is simply too heavy to raise herself
from the toilet hole.

She cries.
She remembers Nicole Kidman clearly sitting on a toilet seat in some
movie. Why can’t we have toilet seats
everywhere in Eastern Ukraine?

Woe is
me! In Slovakia some workers are getting
a minimum wage of 2.8 euros per hour plus accommodation and still live in
despicable circumstances.

“I
want to live as an American!” cries Babushka.
“I want my children and grandchildren to earn 10.10 dollars per
hour. It’s my dream. No more stealing from granny to buy
vodka. Oh woe is me!” Her tears are real.

“Come
out of there, you!” shouts Bossyuvska.

“Help
me get up,” cries Babushka.

“Well
open the door!” yells Bossy, her hand on a dirty old mop. “You can’t expect Putin to solve everything.”

Babushka leaves the ladies room.

“Don’t
come back here again,” snaps Bossyuvska.
“You should stay home in the kitchen!”

Babushka likes a strong leader. But
she doesn’t expect Barack or Hillary to solve everything in the United States
either.

There’s no acceptable minimum wage in Slovakia, thinks Babushka. And those Germans don’t really want us! America is too far, too dangerous and the
bourgeoisie just struggling to survive.
Babushka wants a high minimum wage which the oligarchs could care less
about. For proper public toilet seats,
including in schools and all restaurants, and for improved transportation where
people are not packed like sardines—worse than sardines—Babushka must stand up
for herself. Arise Babushka! You great stalwart of the proletariat! Arise to expect more from your government. Arise for free toilets and tennis
courts! Why stop at the EU? Eastern Ukraine can do better! And better than Russia with its hovering
police presence (rather like the US), mobster gangs (again US lawlessness), and
lack of journalistic freedom.

Last year quite a number of Ukrainians
in Kiev told me that they didn’t care about the Palestinian issue. It just didn’t matter to them, the
self-determination of the Palestinian people. And now with so many needless killings in Kiev
last week—much like the Gaza Flotilla Tragedy on a larger scale—it becomes
apparent that self-determination must be for all.

It is time for the people of Eastern Ukraine to find in themselves a
greater expectation than anyone has ever had of them. A spiritual, character-building deliverance
from stagnation and toleration of an inept status quo benefiting only the
wealthiest and least humane. May the
blood of others purge minds all too closed and negative, sick with
indifference.